Les Misérables of the Rings
by Eowyn Fauchelevent
Summary: 19th century French revolutionaries wind up in Middle Earth during the War of the Ring instead of actually dying. What could go wrong? Find out in the result of my daring to ask what would happen if two of my favourite things were combined. R&R! LotR movieverse mostly (which oddly does not have a separate category from the books)
1. Prologue

**So the entire thought process on this one was "what if I combine two of my four favourite things in the world with each other" and not much else (adding the other two, pizza and cats, just didn't seam to fit). 19th century French revolutionaries wind up in Middle Earth during the War of the Ring instead of actually dying. What could go wrong? Probably just enough to be hilarious.**

Les Misérables of the Rings

 _Prologue_

"And rain... Will make the flowers..." Éponine struggled, but knew she wouldn't be able to finish the words. Instead, she made the decision to try to do what she had longed to do for years and reached up to kiss Marius, only to fail, her head falling back limply as the world went black and she died.

Or, at least, she thought she was dying. The world seemed to be spinning around her, despite the darkness, and she was sure she was falling. Sound became fuzzy before disappearing almost entirely, leaving only a ringing in her ears. The pain was gone from her hand and chest now, but she decided she would take that over the spinning and ringing if that was what awaited her for all of eternity.

Then, without warning, it all stopped, leaving nothing but silence and darkness. A few moments passed, and the silence was replaced with the faint sound of a heartbeat, wind, and the chirping of birds. Had it stopped? Had the barricade fallen? Or, by some chance, had they won? But more importantly, how was she alive?

Perhaps she had died after all, though, and she was in whatever afterlife awaited her. She doubted Hell had birds and wind, so had she somehow made it to Heaven? Hesitantly, Éponine opened her eyes to find herself in a place that she couldn't recognize at all. She was in an elegant room with stone walls, carved carefully with intricate designs. She'd never seen anything so fancy in her life. The bed she was lying on made her feel as though she were lying on a cloud. He lifted her left arm to examine her hand, expecting to see a hole clean through it where the musket had shot her, yet that was not the case. Her hand was fully in tact, with only a faded scar as evidence that she'd even been shot. Panicking slightly, she sat up with a jolt, her head spinning and throbbing as a result.

Could this be Heaven? Somehow she doubted that. It didn't feel like Heaven, but then again she had never been dead before so who was she to make that call? Maybe it was. She was still staving, however, and if it was Heaven, surely she wouldn't be hungry? Was there hunger in Heaven? She tried to remember if she had ever heard a priest comment on that, but nothing came to mind.

The sound of a door opening pulled her out of her struggle to figure out if she were in Heaven, and she turned to see a tall man with long, brown hair enter. She stiffened instinctively, not trusting the strange man before her. As he got closer, however, she realized that he was very different from every other man she had met. There was no sign that he had ever possessed facial hair, and his long brown hair was perfectly straight, with some of it pulled back elegantly in a partial ponytail.

The thing about his appearance that drove her over the edge, however, was the fact that his ears were perfectly and unnaturally pointed.

With a horrified shriek, she jolted out of the bed only to trip on the sheets in her panicked state, falling flat on the floor. She stiffened as the pointed-eared man helped her up and set her back on the bed.

"You don't need to be afraid of me," he told her. "You were found unconscious in the wilderness and were brought here for healing."

"What wilderness? Who are you and what is this place?" Éponine asked, her heart racing. This man was completely different from anyone else she had ever met, almost as if he wasn't really human.

"My name is Lord Elrond, and you are in Rivendell," he replied.

"Elrond... Rivendell..." Her head was completely spinning now. "What about Paris, and the rebellion?"

Lord Elrond raised an eyebrow in response. "There's no 'Paris' anywhere near here, and certainly no rebellions. Are you all right?"

Éponine's heart raced faster, and the feeling of panic began to engulf her. "No Paris... But I was in France- I was _shot_ \- This can't be real. This must be a dream..."

"I can assure you that this is no dream..." The rest of Lord Elrond's words blurred in her ears as the panic and fear overwhelmed her and the room began to spin before the world began to go black again, with one last thought before once more falling unconscious.

 _But where on Earth is Rivendell?_


	2. Chapter 1

Chapter 1

"Let us die facing our foes, make them bleed while we can!" Enjolras yelled, eyes blazing with fury.

"Make 'em pay through the nose," Combeferre agreed as he attempted to comfort Courfeyrac.

"Make 'em pay for every man," Courfeyrac added, pain and anger in his eyes from the death of Gavroche moments before.

"Let others rise to take our place until the Earth is free!" Enjolras shouted as the National Guard advanced for their final assault on the barricade. The air soon exploded with the sound of gunshots. For a brief moment, Enjolras began to think that maybe, just maybe they might stand a slim chance of still winning their fight.

His hope soon died, however, as he watched his friends begin to fall, one by one. Feuilly, Jehan, Bahorel, Combeferre, Courfeyrac... Running out of ammunition, he grabbed the red flag and climbed to the top of the barricade, waving the flag frantically in one final act of defiance. He barely felt the bullet that struck him in the chest before he felt himself falling, the flag still clutched in his hand as the world went black.

* * *

When Enjolras opened his eyes, he found himself in an intricate, stone room, lying on a very comfortable bed. He couldn't remember ever having been there before, so how he had gotten from the barricade to there was entirely beyond him. But where were his friends? How was he not dead? He could distinctly remember being shot in the chest, he knew it had happened, it had been right before he'd fallen and felt the sensation of spinning while everything was dark.

Yet there was no pain now, and he was fairly confident that he wasn't dead. Frustrated by the feeling of not knowing exactly where he was and what was going on, he sat up, ignoring the spinning in his head as he did so, and got to his feet. He stumbled slightly at first, but he stubbornly got himself out of the room he was in and into a hallway.

The strange, intricate stone architecture continued, puzzling him a bit. No building he had ever seen in Paris even vaguely resembled where he was now. It was all fancy, ornate. Not even Notre-Dame cathedral or the palace of Versailles could be compared to the architecture he was seeing. Versailles was lavish and luxurious to the point of being overwhelming, and Notre-Dame's medieval, Gothic, beautiful in an almost rough and intimidating way.

The frustration increased, and he chose to turn left, heading down the hallway towards what appeared to be a balcony. The sight he saw once he reached it was unlike anything he had ever glimpsed in his entire life.

The stone building he was in was nestled in what appeared to be a magnificent mountain range, with waterfalls cascading down the mountainside, cutting through glorious forests. Unlike what he had seen in France, rather than trying to alter the landscape to suit the plans of those who had built the cities, the environment appeared to have been taken into consideration in the planning, and the building had worked around it, using the cliffs, trees, and waterfalls to create something beautiful and otherworldly. He was sure Jehan would be completely in love with the place were he here. A lump caught in his throat at the thought of that. Jehan. Was he somehow alive, were his other friends?

At that moment, he saw a figure standing a few metres away from him, also looking out at the scenery. It was a girl, a rather skinny, pale one, with long, dark auburn hair, who for some reason felt familiar to him. After several seconds of staring, trying to figure out why she seemed familiar, it struck him.

"Éponine?" At the sound of her name, she turned, and he knew from her face that it was her. Cleaner – a lot cleaner, and not dying while covered in blood, but definitely her.

"How do you know my name?" she asked, looking at him, somewhat confused.

"You were at the barricade. I watched you die in Marius' arms," he replied.

Recognition flashed in her eyes. "Ah, yes, the bossy blond one. I thought I recognized you. Couldn't be sure though, since you're missing the tacky red vest. I'm surprised you even know my name."

"My vest is not tacky!" he retorted, offended momentarily at her criticism before realizing exactly what she had said. He glanced down quickly, and discovered that his vest was gone. "Wait, where is it?"

"Probably wherever my own clothes wound up," Éponine replied, and he noticed that she was wearing something different from what she'd worn at the barricade, her boy clothes replaced with a simple blue dress. Furthermore, her long hair was no longer tangled and messy, but clean and brushed.

"So, where are we?" Enjolras asked. She seemed to have some sort of idea of what was going on, and he wasn't pleased when she grimaced in response.

"That's a bit of a tricky question," she replied slowly after a moment. "We're not in Paris for starters, we're in a place called Rivendell. Which isn't in France either... It's in Middle Earth. I think we're in a completely different world."

"You're mad," Enjolras retorted immediately. "Either you're playing some sort of insane joke, or you're completely mad."

"It's neither, it's true," Éponine insisted. Her eyes flashed with annoyance at his quick, dismissive response. "You know what, blondie, come with me. I'll prove it." She grabbed his arm and began to drag him away.

"Where are we going?" he asked, feeling incredibly confused and annoyed. "And my name is Enjolras, by the way, not blondie."

"Well, too bad, I'm calling you blondie. As for where we're going, we're going to spy," she replied, dragging him behind her as she made her way down the hall. He was surprised by her strength. She was tiny, and he was much larger than her, but he found himself unable to get free.

"And what exactly are we going to spy on?" he asked, trying desperately to get his wrist free from her grasp.

She didn't even turn to look at him before answering. "There's some sort of secret meeting going on, and you and I are going to go find out _exactly_ what weird situation we've managed to land in."


	3. Chapter 2

Chapter 2

Éponine had spent years on the streets of Paris, so she knew exactly what she was doing. Well, mostly, that is. She was not familiar with Rivendell. However, since waking up there the previous day and after taking a bit of time to adjust and absorb the fact that she was no longer in nineteenth century France, she had done a bit of snooping and was fairly confident that she could first, locate Elrond's secret meeting, and second, get herself and Enjolras into a hidden spot to spy.

She knew it would be difficult, but she had every intention of pulling it off. After all, during her snooping the day before, she had managed to overhear Elrond talking to some weird, old guy with an incredibly long beard about the meeting, which was the only reason she knew about it in the first place. She was fairly confident she would be in trouble if they found out she knew, but rather than worry about that, she was going to take advantage of it and use it as a learning opportunity.

"So, how are we supposed to spy on a meeting we aren't even supposed to know about in a place we aren't familiar with?" Enjolras asked as she continued to drag him along.

"First off, you need to shut up and trust me," Éponine replied. "Second, it's outside. So that makes it easy. Here." They were standing on another balcony, directly beside a large tree. "See that table down there? That's where the meeting will be." A few people had already begun to gather.

Enjolras looked sceptical. "We'll be spying from here?"

"No, we'll be watching from the tree."

He raised an eyebrow in response. "We could easily watch from right here, but you want to sit in a tree?"

"We could get caught here."

"We could get caught in the tree."

"The tree has more cover. Just trust me." She looked at him desperately. "It's the best plan."

He sighed, and finally conceded. "Fine. We'll get in the tree."

"Perfect!" Éponine proceeded to immediately climb over the railing, completely ignoring the fact that she was wearing a dress, and seemingly effortlessly managed to move from there to the tree. Enjolras watched impressed as she did so. Once she was securely in the tree, she turned to look at him. "Come on, let's go."

He followed carefully, with a bit less confidence than she had. His foot slipped a bit as he moved into the tree, but he managed to catch himself and avoid falling. Before long, the two were perched side by side, looking down at the stone table and the group that was gathering.

"Interesting group," Enjolras commented quietly. "Tall men with long hair, short ones with shaggy beards..."

"Elves and dwarves. I told you, we're not even close to being in France anymore," Éponine replied.

"You're definitely mad."

"I am not! Now shush!" she whisper-shouted. "I think the meeting is about to start."

The seats were all filled now, elves, dwarves, men, what appeared to be a kid her brother's age, and the old bearded man Elrond had been talking to before.

"Strangers from distant lands, friends of old," Elrond began, "you have been summoned here to answer the threat of Mordor. Middle-Earth stands upon the brink of destruction. None can escape it. You will unite or you will fall. Each race is bound to this fate–this one doom." He gestured to the pedestal in the middle of the circle. "Bring forth the Ring, Frodo."

Enjolras looked at Éponine and raised his eyebrow. "A ring? A ring is doom?"

Éponine shrugged. "How should I know? This is the first I've heard of it."

The child stood and approached the pedestal and set something down upon it. Éponine squinted and leaned in slightly. "Looks like a plain, gold ring to me. Nothing special there."

"I don't think the people at the meeting agree with you," Enjolras replied. "Not with the way they're all whispering and looking nervous."

"So it is true," one man said suddenly, rising to his feet and slowly advancing towards the pedestal. "In a dream, I saw the Eastern side grow dark but in the West a pale light lingered. A voice was crying: Your doom is near at hand. Isildur's Bane is found."

"Boromir!" Elrond exclaimed, getting to his feet as the man who had just spoken reached towards the ring.

At that moment, the old bearded man stood and began to shout in a strange language. "Ash nazg durbatuluk, ash nazg gimbatul, ash nazg thrakatuluk agh burzum-ishi krimpatul!"

The man who had reached for the ring quickly sat down, and numerous people cringed at the sound of the words, almost as if they were in pain. Thunder rumbled and the skies darkened. Enjolras and Éponine glanced at each other nervously.

"Believe me yet?" Éponine whispered.

"It's still a lot to absorb," Enjolras replied hesitantly. "But I think I'm starting to."

"Never before has a voice uttered the words of that tongue here in Imladris," Elrond said, a tone of disapproval in his voice as he looked at the bearded man.

"I do not ask your pardon, Master Elrond, for the Black Speech of Mordor may yet be heard in every corner of the West!" the bearded man replied gruffly. "The Ring is altogether evil."

"How can a ring be evil?" Enjolras asked. "It's a ring."

"I don't know, but I'm sure we'll find out. Shush!" Éponine hissed in response.

The man who had reached for the ring earlier was shaking his head now. "It is a gift!" he insisted. "A gift to the foes of Mordor!" He stood again, and began to pace back and forth. "Why not use this Ring? Long has my father, the Steward of Gondor, kept the forces of Mordor at bay. By the blood of our people are your lands kept safe! Give Gondor the weapon of the enemy. Let us use it against him!"

"Mordor, Gondor..." Enjolras muttered. "Rivendell... You might be right about it being a different world."

"There are elves and dwarves, of course I'm right, now shut up!" she hissed again.

"You cannot wield it!" another man retorted. This one was a bit shaggy looking, with unkempt hair. "None of us can! The One Ring answers to Sauron alone. It has no other master."

The other man looked at him condescendingly. "And what would a ranger know of this matter?"

A rather handsome blond man with long hair and pointy ears, whom Éponine believed to be an elf, got to his feet at that comment.

"This is no mere ranger!" the blond elf shot at the condescending man. "This is Aragorn, son of Arathorn. You owe him your allegiance."

"Aragorn?" The condescending one turned to look at Aragorn. "This is Isildur's heir?"

"And heir to the throne of Gondor," the blond elf added sternly.

"Havo dad, Legolas," Aragorn said, and the elf sat down.

The condescending man wasn't done, however. He scoffed at Aragorn before returning to his seat. "Gondor has no king. Gondor needs no king."

Éponine turned to look at Enjolras, and saw a glint in his eyes at that remark. "You're planning to save that line, aren't you?" she asked.

"Of course I am, it's perfect. France has no king. France needs no king. Doesn't have quite the same ring to it, but it's still perfect."

Éponine simply rolled her eyes and resumed paying attention.

"Aragorn is right," the bearded one said. "We cannot use it."

"You have only one choice," Elrond added. "The ring must be destroyed."

"Well, what are we waiting for?" a ginger dwarf asked, getting up and grabbing his battle axe before charging at the pedestal, swinging the blade down upon the ring. He let out an exclamation of shock as he fell back, the blade of his axe shattering. The ring remained entirely undamaged.

Éponine and Enjolras both stared, eyes wide in amazement.

"The Ring cannot be destroyed, Gimli, son of Gloin by any craft that we here possess," Elrond explained. "The Ring was made in the fires of Mount Doom. Only there can it be unmade. It must be taken deep into Mordor and cast back into the fiery chasm from whence it came."

Éponine shivered slightly. His voice was dead serious, as if the fate of the entire world rested upon that task.

"One of you must do this," Elrond finished, his words met with a resounding silence.

After several long moments, the condescending man spoke up, shaking his head as he did so. "One does not simply walk into Mordor," he insisted. "Its black gates are guarded by more than just orcs. There is evil there that does not sleep. And the great Eye is ever watchful. It is a barren wasteland. Riddled with fire and ash and dust. The very air you breathe is a poisonous fume. Not with ten thousand men could you do this. It is folly!"

"Well, someone has very little faith," Enjolras muttered.

"Have you heard nothing Lord Elrond has said?" the blond elf exclaimed, leaping back to his feet. "The Ring must be destroyed!"

"And I suppose you think you're the one to do it!" the ginger dwarf snapped, also leaping up.

The highly negative, condescending one also got to his feet, still not finished with his pessimism. "And if we fail, what then? What happens when Sauron takes back what is his?"

"I will be dead before I see the Ring in the hands of an elf!" the ginger dwarf yelled. Chaos immediately ensued, the elves and dwarves and men shouting at each other as everyone at the meeting began to argue.

"What in the world have we gotten ourselves into?" Enjolras asked as he watched.

"I have no idea, but I'm blaming you for this," Éponine replied.

"That hardly seems fair," Enjolras commented, turning to look at her.

"You started the barricade, I got shot, I died, I woke up here. Your fault," she insisted.

"I will take it!" Silence suddenly fell in response to the words. Éponine turned away from Enjolras to look back down, and saw that the child was standing. She squinted, and realized that maybe it wasn't a child. His feet were bare and very hairy, and his ears were slightly pointed, but not as much as the elves' were. He seemed to be something between an elf and a dwarf.

"I will take the Ring to Mordor. Though, I do not know the way..." the child-like man, boy, whatever he was, Éponine didn't know, said.

"I will help you bear this burden, Frodo Baggins, so long as it is yours to bear," the bearded man assured him, walking over to place a hand on his shoulder.

Aragorn got to his feet to approach Frodo as well. "If by my life or death, I can protect you, I will," he told Frodo. "You have my sword."

"And you have my bow," the blond elf added, rising to join the small group.

The ginger dwarf refused to be left out. "And my axe!"

The pessimistic one got to his feet, approaching the group slowly. "You carry the fates of us all little one," he commented. "If this is indeed the will of the council, then Gondor will see it done."

"Hey!" A new voice suddenly spoke up. "Mr Frodo's not going anywhere without me!" Another of the child-like people ran over to join the group.

"No indeed," Elrond commented, "since it is hardly possible to separate the two of you even when he is summoned to a secret council meeting and you are not."

"Wait! We're coming too!" Another pair of the child-like people ran over, these two clearly younger than Frodo and the other one.

"You'd have send us home tied up in a sack to stop us!" one said.

"Anyway, you need people of intelligence on this sort of quest... Mission... Thing..." the other said.

"Guess that rules you out, Pip," the first of the new pair told the other.

"Nine companions. So be it," Elrond said. "You shall be the Fellowship of the Ring."

"Great!" the one that had been called Pip said. "Where are we going?"

Éponine and Enjolras looked at each other.

"Well, that was informative," Éponine commented.

Enjolras nodded in agreement. "Yes, it really was."

"You're planning something, aren't you?" Éponine asked him.

"Yes, I am," Enjolras replied. She felt her heart sink as she saw the fire blazing in his eyes.

"And your plan has nothing to do with getting back to Paris, I assume?"

"No. Not yet, at least. I think I know why we're here now."

"Oh, really?" Éponine asked dryly. "And why is that?"

"We're meant to help these people in their fight against tyranny!"

"And what about the tyranny in France?"

"This sounds a lot closer to the literal end of the world than that idiot king back home in France," Enjolras replied. "This seems more urgent. And the people didn't rise to help us. We were meant to be here now, otherwise we'd still be in Paris." She wasn't sure whether he was trying more to convince her or himself, but he sounded serious either way.

"And what are you going to do, build a barricade across Mordor or Mount Doom or whatever it is the problem is? And they don't have guns, they've got bows and arrows and axes! You are completely out of your element here!" Éponine snapped.

"It's worth a try!"

"Are you thinking perhaps if you die here, you'll get back to France? Is that it? Since we died in France and woke up here, maybe it goes both ways? We literally died to get here! I don't think that will work!"

"Would the two of you like to come out of the tree now?"

They both froze and stopped their argument as Elrond's voice interrupted. Éponine glanced down nervously, and something about his stern expression made her immediately obey. Enjolras followed shortly behind her.

The council meeting appeared to have broken up for the most part now, though several members remained, watching her and Enjolras curiously. Their gazes made her uncomfortable.

Elrond and the bearded man looked at the two of them silently for a few moments before he spoke.

"I think that the four of us have much to discuss," Elrond said slowly. "Come along. We'll talk somewhere more private."


	4. Chapter 3

Chapter 3

Éponine and Enjolras followed Elrond and the bearded man back inside and down a hallway. They were both burning with curiosity, full to bursting with questions that they wanted answered. They soon arrived at a room that Elrond quickly closed the door to, before he and the bearded man turned on them with questions of their own.

"Who are you?" Elrond asked first.

"As I've already told you, my name is Éponine," Éponine replied immediately.

"And my name is Enjolras," Enjolras replied. "Who are you?"

"It seems fair enough that we tell you our names since we know yours," the bearded man replied. "I am Gandalf, Gandalf the Grey, they call me. And this is Lord Elrond of Rivendell."

Enjolras scoffed slightly at the title, and Éponine shot him a quick glare as Elrond raised an eyebrow at Enjolras' response.

"And what brings you to Rivendell?" Gandalf asked.

"We were hoping you'd be able to tell us, actually," Éponine said slowly. "Right before I woke up here, I died. We were in Paris, France, in a very different world from this one, and I definitely died there."

"And what makes you so sure of that?" Gandalf asked curiously.

"I was shot in the chest. There was blood everywhere," she told him.

"She was dead, I watched her die," Enjolras added. "She had no pulse and wasn't breathing. And I died the next day, and I'm pretty sure that at least most, if not all, of my friends did as well."

"And what were you doing that resulted in your deaths?" Elrond asked, his eyes narrowed.

"We were in the middle of a rebellion against the monarchy," Enjolras replied without a moment's hesitation.

"A rebellion against the monarchy?" Gandalf questioned, clearly still curious.

"The King of France is corrupt and doesn't care about the people," Enjolras responded.

"I see. And this "France" is in a different world?" Elrond asked.

"Yes, it is. There are no elves, dwarves, or magic world-ending rings there," Éponine confirmed. "And none of those short hairy footed people either."

"Hobbits, or halflings," Gandalf explained. "Very cheery, simple people, with a great love for food and drink, they prefer a peaceful life. I really am quite fond of them. They're also remarkably resilient."

"Never mind all of that," Enjolras snapped. "The rest of my friends, are they here as well?"

"There were eight other men found and brought here," Elrond replied, "as well as a child, a young boy."

"My brother's here?" Éponine asked, her eyes wide. Enjolras shot her a look.

"Your brother?" he asked.

"Yes, Gavroche is my brother. And now his idolization of you and your friends has got him killed!" Éponine told him with a glare.

"I'm not so sure that this really counts as being killed," Enjolras retorted. "I don't exactly feel dead right now."

"Well he was killed in Paris at your stupid barricade since he's here now, and I am _definitely_ going to continue to blame you for everything!" Éponine shot back.

"On the topic of you being here now," Elrond cut in, a hint of frustration in his voice, "what are we going to do with you until we can get you back to your world?"

"Well, we're dead in our own world, for starters," Éponine replied, "and we don't really know anything about this world."

Gandalf studied them for a moment. "You said you were in the middle of a rebellion in your world?"

"Yes," Enjolras replied proudly. "I planned and led it myself, with the help of Combeferre and Courfeyrac."

"You may be useful then. I'll look after them all, Lord Elrond," Gandalf decided. "They can come to Mordor with the Fellowship. Perhaps, along the way, we'll even find a way to send them home."

Éponine and Enjolras glanced at each other.

"Are you sure that's a good idea?" Éponine asked. "We don't know anything about this place, or your quest, or anything really. We don't even have the same weapons in our world. Won't we just be in your way?"

"We won't be leaving for several days, so we can give you the information you'll need to know before we depart," Gandalf assured her. "And our hobbits don't have any skills with any weapons, so you won't be alone in that."

"Good to know," she muttered. She was not overly keen on being swept up on some journey in a world she knew nothing about. Furthermore, Elrond had said eight men. Counting Enjolras, there had been ten, twelve if she counted herself and Gavroche. Someone was missing, but who? Could it be Marius? Had he survived and gone off to prance around with Cosette, marry her, and live happily ever after?

She supposed that if that were the case, an adventure might be a good way to distract herself from the heartbreak. Better yet, if Marius had not survived and was now in Middle-Earth with them, then the adventure would be a good opportunity for her to make him fall in love with her instead. Thinking about it, going off on a quest in a strange world might not be so bad after all.

"All right, you've won me over. I'm in," she said after a moment. Enjolras looked at her, a bit surprised by her answer.

"Good, because I wasn't going to give you a choice in the matter," Gandalf replied.

"Can I see my friends now?" Enjolras asked. He didn't appear to have even really thought about the journey that they would soon have to go on.

"Yes, you may," Elrond told him. "They'll probably be waking up soon. And it would be better to have all eleven of you together while everything is explained. As you're from a different world, it will likely be quite complicated."

"Yes, I imagine it will be," Éponine said dryly. "A piece of jewelry is equivalent to the end of the world. That doesn't happen where we're from."

Elorond shot her a look that gave her the feeling that he didn't appreciate her sass. She was beginning to get the feeling that he could be a bit stuck up. She decidedly liked Gandalf, however. He seemed to be quite kind and at least had a bit of a sense of humour.

"Now then," Elrond said after a moment. "If you would be so kind as to follow me, I will take you to your friends."


	5. Chapter 4

Chapter 4

Less than an hour later, they were all gathered together in one room. Éponine, Gavroche, Enjolras, Combeferre, Courfeyrac, Feuilly, Bahorel, Grantaire, Joly, Bossuet, and Jehan Prouvaire. Marius, as it turned out, appeared to have survived the barricade. Éponine felt a twinge of disappointment that she would likely never see him again, but she pushed the thought aside in order to focus on Elrond's words.

"So, what exactly is going on here?" Combeferre asked. Aside from Jehan, he appeared to be the most curious of all of Enjolras' friends about their situation. He had listened very intently through the beginning of Elrond's explanation on how they were in another world, and seemed to be quite interested in the fact that in a few short days they would be setting off on what would likely be a very long and dangerous adventure. "What's the full back story on this magic ring?"

"That is a very long and important piece of the history of Middle-Earth," Elrond began. "Which you will need to know to understand the full seriousness of the quest that Gandalf has decided you will take part in. This is why I wanted you all together before explaining it." He looked at each of them for a moment before beginning.

"It began with the forging of the great rings. Three were given to the elves, immortal, wisest and fairest of all beings."

"That's a bit conceited," Grantaire muttered under his breath. If Elrond heard him, he didn't show it.

"Seven to the dwarf lords, great miners and craftsmen of the mountain halls. And nine, nine rings were gifted to the race of men, who above all else desire power."

"Not necessarily," Grantaire muttered again, "all I want is a good drink; I think I deserve one after all of this nonsense." Again, Elrond ignored him.

"For within these rings was bound the strength and will to govern each race, for another ring was made. In the land of Mordor, in the fires of Mount Doom, the Dark Lord Sauron forged in secret a master ring, to control all others. And into this Ring, he poured his cruelty, his malice, and his will to dominate all life. One Ring to rule them all."

Elrond paused a took a breath before continuing. "One by one, the free lands of Middle-Earth fell to the power of the Ring. But there were some who resisted. A last alliance of men and elves marched against the armies of Mordor, and on the slopes of Mount Doom they fought for the freedom of Middle-Earth. Victory was near, but the power of the Ring could not be undone. It was in this moment, when all hope had faded, that Isildur, son of the King, took up his father's sword. Sauron, the enemy of the free peoples of Middle-Earth, was defeated..." Elrond sighed and looked down.

"Then why is the Ring such a problem?" Enjolras asked. "If he was defeated, it shouldn't matter, right?"

"Sauron's life force was bound to the Ring," Elrond replied. "The Ring survived, so his spirit endured. I was there three thousand years ago. Isildur took the Ring. The strength of men failed. I led Isildur into the heart of Mount Doom, where the Ring was forged, the one place it could be destroyed. It should have ended that day, but evil was allowed to endure." Elrond's eyes were dark as he spoke, and it was clear after all of that time he still carried some sort of grudge. Of course, if the Ring was that horrible, Éponine couldn't really blame him for it. "Isildur kept the Ring."

"You're three thousand years old?" Elrond's gaze turned sharply to Gavroche, who had asked the question. Éponine was hardly surprised that that was what her little brother had gotten out of the long explanation.

"As an elf, I am immortal," Elrond replied.

"Wow." Gavroche was fascinated.

"And Sauron, was he some sort of elf as well?" Combeferre asked. "How was he so powerful?"

"Sauron was not an elf," Elrond replied. "He was one of the Maiar, servants of the Valar."

"And what are they?" Combeferre was possibly even more fascinated than Gavroche. Éponine vaguely recalled that he was a medical student who was obsessed with learning about everything that there was to know, and this topic seemed to be no exception.

"The Valar are the servants of Eru Iluvatar," Elrond replied. "Iluvatar is the one who created the world, with the help of the Valar, who were sent to watch over it. The Valar are served and assisted by the Maiar. Morgoth, formerly known as Melkor, fell to darkness. Sauron was one of his servants, but he disguised himself and deceived us all."

"And there are other Maiar as well?" Combeferre asked.

"Yes," Gandalf replied before Elrond had the chance. "Myself and the other Istari, or wizards as we're more commonly known, are of the Maiar."

"A wizard?" Combeferre seemed even more fascinated now.

"I think that's enough background information for now, Combeferre," Enjolras quickly interrupted. "When do we leave? Will we have a chance to train with the weapons used in this world first?"

"You have five days before you set out, and if you would like a chance to train, you will have it," Elrond told him.

"Good," Enjolras replied with a nod.

"For now though, you should rest. It's a lot of information to take in, and you'll need your strength for the coming journey," Gandalf suggested.

Enjolras nodded dismissively in response, and Gandalf and Elrond left the eleven companions alone.

"Well," Courfeyrac commented. "This is an unexpected turn of events. I guess there's no chance of us getting back to Paris any time soon?"

"If we can get back at all," Feuilly added. "We got here by dying, I doubt that dying here would send us back since we're already dead there."

"So we're probably here forever then," Grantaire sighed. "Great. They'd better have decent alcohol."

"We're about to be caught up in the middle of a war," Enjolras snapped. "Shut up about your alcohol. Nobody cares about that but you."

Grantaire simply glared at him in response.

"I, personally, would like to see a map," Combeferre put in. "Have some sort of idea of where we are and where we're going."

"We're in Rivendell and going to Mordor," Gavroche told him. "That's what Elrond said."

"We're in a different world, until I see a map those are just meaningless words," Combeferre explained. "A map will give me a better sense of the distance and what the places are like."

Gavroche looked thoughtful for a moment. "That actually sounds like a good idea."

"Why don't you come with me to try and find one then?" Combeferre offered.

"And I'll go find a drink," Grantaire decided. "I need one."

Enjolras scoffed at Granaire's words but didn't say anything, choosing instead to judge silently before heading off with Combeferre and Gavroche.

"I'll join you, R," Courfeyrac said. "I could do with some food."

Bahorel, Joly, and Lesgles all nodded in agreement, and the five of them headed off as well.

"Éponine, you mentioned some sort of garden?" Jehan asked. She nodded.

"Yeah, the outside is beautiful."

"Could you show me? I'd love to see it," Jehan said excitedly. "I do love nature."

"You'll really love this place then," Éponine told him. "Let's go."

"I'll join you," Feuilly said, getting up. "Might be some good inspiration for a painting. If I'm able to get a chance to paint anything while we're here, at least. Which I probably won't."

"Great," Éponine replied. "Let's go."

The trio headed off down the hall, Éponine in the lead, and eventually the reached a balcony. Jehan and Feuilly looked out in amazement, both astounded by the beauty of where they were.

"The cliffs, the trees, the waterfalls..." Jehan murmured as he gazed out at the remarkable landscape. "I've never seen anything so beautiful in all my life."

Feuilly could only nod in agreement. Éponine smiled, glad that they were happy.

"It is very beautiful here," she agreed.

"If all of Middle-Earth looks like this, I don't think the journey will be so bad," Jehan stated.

Éponine nodded. She doubted that she could ever be anything but happy in a world that was so beautiful. Her life before had been dark and painful. This, she decided, was the perfect chance for her to start a new life and finally be happy.

* * *

Enjolras, meanwhile, was absolutely astounded by Combeferre's determination to gaze at map after map in utter fascination. It was as if nothing else in their world or in this one mattered to him. His friend's eyes searched the maps in excitement, their darting back and forth across the pages being the only movements he made, save for the occasional adjustment of his glasses.

After a while, Enjolras noticed a tall, rugged looking man with dark hair watching them. He looked at the man for a few moments before recognizing him as one of the men from the meeting earlier, the one that had been called Aragorn.

"Can we help you?" he asked dryly.

"I take it that you are some of the ones that will be accompanying us on our quest?" the man questioned in response.

Enjolras simply nodded.

"I am Aragorn, son of Arathorn. And you are?"

"Enjolras. And this is Combeferre and Gavroche. Did you want something?" Enjolras asked.

"I was simply looking to offer any assistance you may need. I see that you're looking over the maps?"

Combeferre nodded, showing that he had been listening. "Yes, they're very fascinating. Although I am entirely unfamiliar with this world."

Aragorn joined them, and began pointing to locations. "Well, as you can see this is Imladris, or Rivendell, which is where we are. And this is Mordor, in the East, which is where we will be going."

Combeferre nodded, continuing to look at the map.

"The path we will likely take will lead us South, on the Eastern side of the Misty Mountains, here. This is assuming, of course, that the Gap of Rohan remains open. Gandalf says Saruman has been assembling an army in Isengard, which is close to it," Aragorn explained.

Combeferre nodded, paying close attention. "It sounds like it should be an interesting journey," he commented.

"It really should be," Aragorn replied. "Especially with eleven companions from a different world travelling with us."

"It will be fascinating to see a new world and learn about it," Combeferre agreed.

"And I would like to hear a bit about your world at some point," Aragorn told him. "I look forward to getting to know each of you on the journey."

"And we look forward to getting to know you, as well," Combeferre replied.

Enjolras was a little irked that Combeferre had spoken for him, but had to grudgingly admit that his friend was correct. The other man had made a comment about Aragorn being heir to a throne, yet the man before him seemed to have little to no interest in being royalty. Perhaps he wouldn't be so bad after all. With any luck, the other eight strangers he would be travelling with wouldn't be horrible either; after a look at the map, he had no doubt that the journey would be very long, and he was already dreading the horror that would come with Grantaire going into alcohol withdrawal.

More than one intolerable companion on such a long journey would be the death of him, and he was fairly confident that there would be no miracles if he died a second time.


	6. Chapter 5

Chapter 5

"You have to move your feet more – unless of course you _want_ to be unbalanced and easily killed in battle!"

"Alternatively I could just throw the sword at your face!" Éponine shot back. There were three days until they left with the Fellowship on what would be an incredibly long journey, and she was already more than willing to kill the man known as Boromir. The past two days of training had been incredibly frustrating, with every word out of his mouth making her want to strangle him.

"Then you would be unarmed and make an easy target, and you would probably miss anyway," Boromir retorted.

"This is stupid! Why not just use guns and canons, like in the rebellion?" she snapped. Boromir raised an eyebrow, a look of pure confusion on his face.

"There are no guns in this world, Éponine, that would be impossible," Combeferre reminded her gently. "Perhaps she would be better suited to a bow?" he added as a suggestion.

"That just seems equally stupid," she muttered under her breath.

"If it means I don't have to put up with her bad attitude anymore, that's fine by me," Boromir huffed, turning his full attention to Enjolras and Courfeyrac.

"Come on then, 'Ponine, let's go see Legolas for some archery lessons," Combeferre said cheerfully.

Éponine groaned. "Why is all of this even necessary?"

"This world is heading for a much bigger war than the rebellion, and we're going on a long journey. It will be very dangerous. We need to be able to defend ourselves," he replied.

"I suppose you're right... But it's just so frustrating, and _he_ is particularly annoying." Éponine shot a glare in Boromir's direction as they went to join the archery lesson.

"You'll manage. We all will," Combeferre replied gently. How he could be so calm all the time was beyond Éponine's understanding, and, if she were to be honest, it truly drove her crazy. Nevertheless, she followed him to where Legolas was attempting – and failing – to show Lesgles, also known as Bossuet, how to string a bow. Éponine was glad he had the nickname, his real name would forever have been confused in her head with that of the elf.

"If you're not careful, you're going to hit yourself in the eye," the pointy eared blonde was telling the clumsy bald man, his seemingly endless patience clearly beginning to wear thin.

"I'm trying," Bossuet replied, "I really am. I just have nothing but bad luck."

Éponine's frustration melted away and was replaced with sympathy for the man. She hadn't known him long, but she already knew what he said was true. Just the week before he had dropped a sword on his foot – mercifully only the hilt had hit him – and two days before he had done the same with an arrow, which he had escaped with barely a scratch, it had fallen as he'd attempted to fire it, and with no force behind the arrow it had been perfectly harmless. And those had only been his incidents with weapons, the poor man had experienced a bit of other misfortune in the past week and a half as well.

"Bossuet, why don't you go join Joly in learning about the herbs and remedies that can be used here instead?" Combeferre suggested, wincing as Legolas' prediction very nearly came true, the bow smacking Bossuet in the forehead.

"That sounds like a much better idea for me," Bossuet decided quickly, rubbing his head where he had just hit it with the bow.

"It really is," Combeferre told him.

"Yeah, you're really not suited to swords. Or bows. Or any weapon, probably," Éponine put in bluntly.

Bossuet turned bright red in response before hurrying off.

"You didn't have to be mean," Combeferre scolded.

"I wasn't mean. I was just honest," Éponine retorted. "How is honesty mean?"

"By being phrased rudely."

"Well I fail to see how I was rude."

"Will you both just settle down?" Legolas interrupted, looking slightly irked. "I assume you're here to learn archery?"

"Yes, we are," Combeferre replied quickly. "If you would be so kind as to continue teaching me, and to begin with Éponine."

"Of course," Legolas replied. "It's going to be a long and dangerous journey, you need to be able to defend yourselves."

"We know that, that's why we're here," Éponine replied dryly. Combeferre shot her a disapproving look in response to her sass. She merely rolled her eyes back at him. Legolas, meanwhile, had no response to her comment at all.

"Pick up a bow, then," he said simply. Éponine and Combeferre both complied with his request. "Combeferre, I know you know how to string a bow, as I've already taught you. Éponine, have you ever learned?"

"No," she replied. "But how hard can it be?" She proceeded to grab a bow string and attempt to string the bow, her fingers fumbling clumsily, with little success in accomplishing her task.

"Much harder than it looks, actually," Combeferre replied, watching her with a touch of amusement.

"Shut up bookworm!" she snapped, scowling at him and continuing to frantically try to succeed and failing.

"Would you like some help?" he offered, stepping towards her.

"Don't you dare!" she retorted furiously.

Legolas, meanwhile, had to struggle not to laugh at the interaction. At first he had thought the skinny girl would be a nuisance with her sass, her stubbornness was quickly proving to be amusing.

"There, I got it!" Éponine held up her bow proudly, and Legolas took a deep breath.

"Almost. You were close, but that's too tight. The string will snap if you try to shoot anything," Legolas explained. "Here, let me show you how to do it properly."

Éponine opened her mouth to stop him, but quickly thought better of it and simply nodded. Realistically she knew she was going to have to accept his help. "Fine," she replied bitterly, handing him the bow and allowing him to show her how to string it properly. "I guess I'll have to let you help. And don't you dare say anything!" she added quickly with a glare at Combeferre.

"I wouldn't dream of it," the young medical student replied with a smile.

"Good!" Éponine proceeded to turn her attention to the elf, watching carefully as he strung the bow properly, doing her best to commit each action to memory. She was not going to make another mistake.

* * *

"I just don't understand any of this, Combeferre!" It was evening, and Enjolras and Combeferre were sitting outside in the gardens. Rather, Combeferre was sitting while Enjolras paced, frustration evident on his face.

"Understand what, Enjolras?" Combeferre asked, adjusting his glasses.

"All of this!" Enjolras gestured around them. "This place, what we're doing here- We _died_ , 'Ferre. We shouldn't be here. We should be back in Paris, fighting for freedom! Or at least dead from trying!"

"You're right, we did die. But we don't get a say in what happens to us after death. We're here now, for better or for worse, and I'm sure there is a very good reason for us being here, even if we don't know it yet, or what that reason may be," Combeferre told his friend gently. "I promise you, we will figure this out somehow. But for now, it is best if we just accept that we are here for a reason and make the most of our situation."

"I don't want to accept it!" Enjolras retorted. "I want to go back. I _need_ to go back."

"As I've just told you, we don't have a choice. There is no going back, mon ami."

"Not that we know of. There still could be."

"Well even if there is, we don't know it, as you just said." Combeferre did his best to be patient. "As much as there could be a way, there also very well could not be a way. So you're just going to have to be patient and accept our situation, Enjolras."

Enjolras sighed, running a hand through his hair. His friend was right and he knew it, he just hated admitting it. "This place is just- We don't belong here, 'Ferre."

"I know, Enjolras. And I know it's especially hard for you when you've given your entire life to freeing France, but we are here now and we have an opportunity to help the people here. Do you think you can at least try?" Combeferre asked.

Enjolras nodded in response. "Of course. I can try. I am trying, believe me, I am. And I can do more than try."

"Good, because we'll be leaving in a few days and this will take all of our effort," Combeferre reminded him.

"This 'Mordor' that we're heading for... What do you know of it?" Enjolras asked. "You've done much more research than I have in the past several days."

"It's a dark place, the air is thick with ash and smoke from the volcano known as Mount Doom-"

"Mount Doom. Of course. What a clever idea for a name," Enjolras commented sarcastically.

"As I was saying, the air is thick with the ash and smoke from Mount Doom and from the factories used to forge the weapons used by the orcs."

"Orcs?"

"They apparently used to be elves, but they were twisted and corrupted through torture thousands of years ago, apparently. They are nothing like elves now. They are wicked and black-hearted, and supposedly hate everyone and everything. They work for Sauron."

"And Sauron?"

"A Maia, servant of Morgoth, an evil Vala. He forged the rings. Elrond told us about him when we first got here. He has no physical from currently, unless we count him being a giant fiery eye at the top of the tower of Barad-Dur in Mordor."

"Combeferre, you are a genius and I would be lost without you," Enjolras commented. "How long will it take us to get there?"

"Quite a while, especially considering that there will likely be a lot of danger on the road in the form of orcs, Nazgul, and possibly more," Combeferre replied. "And do try to be polite to Aragorn, he may be heir to a throne but he seems to be quite kind, and much better than France's king. Same with Legolas."

"Legolas?"

"He's an elven prince."

"You're saying that there are two members of royalty in this group?"

"Enjolras, please," Combeferre sighed. "This is nothing like France. Just take a deep breath and try to be patient with our situation."

"Fine, I'll try," Enjolras sighed. "Though these people do really need to try having a republic."

Combeferre sighed. There would clearly be no getting through to his friend on this topic.


	7. Chapter 6

**Thanks to everyone that is continuing to read this! If you could leave a quick review at the end of the chapter, that would be great :)  
**

Chapter 6

"The Ring-bearer is setting out on the Quest of Mount Doom," Lord Elrond announced. Éponine's eyes flickered between each member of the Fellowship that she would be travelling with, as well as to the members of Les Amis de l'ABC that had wound up stuck with her on the trip. After a few days of training and gathering supplies, it was now time for them to leave Rivendell and go on what she suspected was, in a way, a suicide mission. "On you who travel with him," Lord Elrond continued, "no oath, nor bond is laid to go further than you will. Farewell. Hold to your purpose. May the blessings of Elves and Men and all Free Folk go with you."

"The Fellowship awaits the Ringbearer," Gandalf said, and Frodo, who would be carrying the ring that supposedly brought death, walked to the front of the group, only to whisper something to Gandalf before leading the way out.

Éponine felt her heart sink slightly at the realization that it seemed likely that the 'hobbit', or 'halfling', as the short people without facial hair were apparently called, had no clue how to get where they were going. It was bad enough she had to go on the journey, but the thought of actually being led by someone who didn't even know how to get to where they were meant to be going nearly made her sick.

On the other hand, Gandalf did seem to know where they were going, so at the very least she could rest assured that with the wizard on their side, they would not get lost.

* * *

"We must hold this course west of the Misty Mountains for 40 days," Gandalf said from his place on a rock. "If our luck holds the Gap of Rohan will still be open to us. From there our road turns east to Mordor."

The Fellowship and Les Amis de l'ABC, along with Éponine and Gavroche, had been travelling for three days already. Éponine was already frustrated with Boromir, while Enjolras appeared frustrated with pretty much everyone. Gavroche, however, was getting along very well with two of the hobbits, Merry and Pippin. The trio apparently shared an interest in mischief, and Éponine could only hope it wouldn't cause trouble for everyone.

As the group rested in the hills, some cooking food, Boromir was giving the three of them another lesson with swords.

"Two, one, five. Good, very good," Boromir praised as he drilled them.

"Move your feet," Aragorn reminded Gavroche and the hobbits from his seat on a rock. Éponine sat nearby, keeping an eye on her brother, ready to tear a strip off Boromir if he injured the boy.

"You look good, Pippin," Merry said cheerfully.

"Thanks," Pippin replied, clearly excited.

"Faster!" Boromir encouraged.

Éponine chuckled as she watched her brother and the two hobbits continue training with the man that referred to himself as the son of a 'Steward of Gondor', whatever that meant. She had to admit, however, that as much as Boromir annoyed her, he did seem to be getting on well with the three.

After a moment, she turned her attention elsewhere. Gimli was standing near Gandalf, and looked slightly peeved. "If anyone was to ask for my opinion, which I note they're not," he was saying quite loudly, "I'd say we were taking the long way round. Gandalf, we could pass through the Mines of Moria." Éponine raised an eyebrow. Gandalf's smile had disappeared at those words. She had no idea what Moria was, but it was clear Gandalf had no interest in it. "My cousin Balin would give us a royal welcome," Gimli added.

"No Gimli, Gandalf replied. "I would not take the roads through Moria unless I had no other choice."

"Sorry!" Boromir exclaimed suddenly as Pippin yelped, drawing Éponine's attention again in time for her to watch as Pippin kicked Boromir's leg.

"Get him!" Merry yelled before he, Pippin, and Gavroche all tackled Boromir. Éponine found herself laughing again, and she noticed that Aragorn was chuckling as well. He had barely smiled since setting out from Rivendell, and she was glad to see he was less stuck up than she had initially believed.

"For the Shire!" Pippin yelled. "Hold him! Hold him Merry!"

"Gentlemen, that's enough!" Aragorn chuckled, getting up and going to separate them only to be pushed away.

"What is that?" Éponine quickly turned her head. One of the other hobbits had spoken, the one named Sam.

"Nothing, it's just a wisp of cloud," Gimli replied.

"It's moving fast. Against the wind," Boromir commented.

"Crebain from Dunland!" Legolas exclaimed.

Everyone in the Fellowship immediately panicked, putting out the fire they'd been cooking food over and rushing to hide. Éponine looked around at the members of Les Amis de l'ABC, each of whom were just as confused as she was.

"Quick, hide!" Aragorn told them. Éponine chose not to question it and quickly ducked under a bush. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw the rest of Les Amis do the same, along with her brother. Moments after all of them were under cover, a large flock of black birds flew past. _Birds? Why are we hiding from birds?_ Éponine wondered to herself. _Nothing in this place makes any sense._ As quickly as the birds had appeared, they vanished again.

"Spies of Saruman!" Gandalf explained as they came out from their hiding places. "The passage south is being watched. We must take the Pass of Caradhras."

* * *

Enjolras decidedly hated the trip he was on. The first few days hadn't been terrible, but climbing the mountain in the deep snow was crossing a line for him. _I shouldn't even be here now. I should be back in France, contributing to the revolution,_ he thought to himself. He still had no clue who this 'Saruman' was, or why this unknown individual had sent spies after them. _And why were the spies birds? What is this ridiculous place?_ He shook his head, trying to bring back the excitement and conviction he had first felt when he had been up the tree with Éponine, listening in on the council meeting. That thrill of being in a new place with a chance to help new people. Those feelings had gone away quickly after a few days in Rivendell, in the strange society that worshipped kings and tradition and was full of so many things that made so little sense to him.

He had always considered himself a rational, decisive person, and all of these strange new things were throwing him off. Combeferre was the open minded philosopher, the one fascinated by ghosts and new things. The more frustrated Enjolras found himself, the more grateful he was that his best friend's endless curiosity had resulted in Combeferre nearly turning into an encyclopedia on Middle Earth over night.

He quickly turned his head as someone yelled, just in time to see one of the hobbits, Frodo, the one who was carrying the ring, slip and fall, rolling down to where Aragorn was. The dark haired man helped the hobbit to his feet, and the hobbit looked around anxiously. As Enjolras watched, Boromir, the other man, moved towards them, knelt, and picked something up.

"Boromir," Aragorn said warningly. Whatever it was that Boromir said in response was too quiet for Enjolras to make out, but whatever it was, Aragorn was clearly not impressed. "Boromir!" he said again, more sharply this time. "Give the Ring to Frodo."

"As you wish," Enjolras heard Boromir's voice now, though rather faintly. "I care not." The tall, light haired man ruffled Frodo's hair as he handed him the ring before turning to rejoin the group, and as Boromir approached, Enjolras saw Aragorn release his grip on his sword.

 _He was ready to kill him to take back the ring,_ Enjolras realized. _With all their talk, I thought this seemed ridiculous, but they truly believe that this bit of gold jewelry is dangerous and worth killing over..._ He couldn't help but wonder once more just what he and his friends had gotten themselves into.

The group continued on as the winds picked up and more heavy snow began to fall, making the already difficult trek even more unbearable. Bahorel and Grantaire, along with Aragorn and Boromir, began carrying Gavroche and the hobbits as the snow became too deep for them.

The only one in the group that wasn't struggling with the snow was Legolas, the elf, who somehow managed to walk along on top of the snow.

"Stupid prancing pointy eared blondie," he heard Éponine mutter under her breath. Enjolras found himself struggling not to agree with her. The elf seemed annoyingly oblivious to the fact that the rest of them were fighting for every step through the snow that was nearly up to their waists.

"There is a fell voice on the air," Legolas suddenly commented. Enjolras squinted through the blinding snow. The elf appeared to be staring off into the distance. He strained his ears to try and catch whatever it was that Legolas had heard, but Enjolras found that he couldn't hear a thing except for the wind, which was becoming more deafening by the second.

"It's Saruman!" Gandalf yelled to be heard over the loud winds. Moments later, huge mounds of snow began to cascade from high up the mountain, narrowly avoiding the Fellowship and Les Amis.

"He's trying to bring down the mountain!" Aragorn yelled, concern evident in his voice. "Gandalf, we must turn back!"

"No!" the wizard refused.

"This is insanity," Enjolras heard Courfeyrac mutter to Combeferre, who nodded in agreement as Gandalf stepped forward and began yelling what sounded like complete gibberish. Enjolras looked around at his friends.

Bahorel and Grantaire were next to Boromir and Aragorn, trying to keep Gavroche and the hobbits safe. Combeferre and Courfeyrac were nearby with Jehan Prouvaire and Feuilly, along with Bossuet and Joly, the latter looking incredibly anxious. Enjolras could only assume that the poor man was convinced that he would develop pneumonia, hypothermia, frostbite, or some combination of the three. _Hopefully we'll be done with this mountain soon._

Moments later, there was a bright flash of lightning followed by a loud clap of thunder, and snow once again came crashing towards them. They flung themselves towards the steep cliffs, away from the ledge, hoping that the wall behind them would provide some shelter from the sheets of snow threatening to bury them.

The plan did not work however, and they soon found themselves covered by a thick layer of snow. Enjolras quickly began to push his way up, scrambling for breath as he pulled himself out from under the snow. He looked around, relieved to see all of his friends alive and safe as well. Combeferre had even managed to keep from losing his glasses in the avalanche.

"We must get off the mountain!" Boromir was yelling. "Make for the Gap of Rohan and take the west road to my city!"

"The Gap of Rohan takes us too close to Isengard!" Aragorn replied just as loudly. Enjolras looked to Combeferre, hoping that his friend knew the words and places meant, but his friend was too preoccupied with trying to get the snow off of his glasses.

"If we cannot pass over the mountain, let us go under it," Gimli spoke up. Enjolras' eyes flickered over to the dwarf. "Let us go through the Mines of Moria."

From the corner of his eye, Enjolras saw a worried expression pass over Gandalf's face. _That can't be good._

"Let the Ring bearer decide," the wizard said after a moment.

"We cannot stay here!" Boromir continued to yell. "This will be the death of the hobbits." Enjolras looked back over to wear Bahorel, Grantaire, Aragorn, and Boromir were huddled with the four hobbits, along with Gavroche. The five smaller group members looked cold and terrified.

"Frodo?" Gandalf asked.

"We will go through the mines," the dark haired hobbit decided. Enjolras glanced back at Gandalf, who looked rather defeated at that statement.

"So be it," Gandalf agreed after a moment. Enjolras prayed that whatever it was that the wizard was afraid of would be no trouble for their group.


	8. Chapter 7

Chapter 7

"Frodo, come and help an old man." Combeferre frowned as the small hobbit went over to assist the wizard. Gandalf was much taller than Frodo was, if he really needed assistance, why not ask Aragorn, Boromir, Legolas, or even a member of Les Amis de l'ABC for help? Why one of the hobbits? He watched them carefully and was sure from the way they huddled close as they walked that Gandalf hadn't really needed help, just an excuse to talk to the ring-bearer.

Either way, he was relieved to be off the mountain, and quite grateful that his glasses hadn't been lost in the avalanches. Being practically blind in a strange world did not appeal to him at all, and he wasn't sure how successful he would be in finding replacements, or a place to have them repaired, as he had yet to see a single person in Middle Earth with a pair of their own. _Hopefully my glasses won't be an issue... I can't imagine that this will be an easy adventure at all._

"The walls of Moria!" Gimli exclaimed suddenly, reverence in his voice. Combeferre looked around, trying to understand what Gimli meant by his awed words. All he saw was a large cliff face ahead of them in the dim evening light. _Of course, Gimli did call Moria a mine earlier, as part of his suggestion that we go under the mountain,_ he thought as they climbed over the hill that stood between them and the supposed entrance to Moria. _So it would make sense for the cliffs to be 'walls'._

"Dwarf doors are invisible when closed," Gimli explained as they continued their trek to the entrance, going around the edge of a small lake. The scenery wasn't very nice, Combeferre decided. The lake looked miserable and foreboding, and the rocks and cliffs they'd been climbing around to even get that far were just as dreary. Nevertheless, the obstacle course they had to cover in order to reach the entrance to the mines still beat being buried alive under an avalanche.

"Yes, Gimli," Gandalf replied, pulling Combeferre back out of his thoughts. "Their own masters cannot find them if their secrets are forgotten."

"Why doesn't that surprise me?" Legolas commented dryly. Gimli shot the elf a dark look as Frodo slipped, nearly stumbling into the lake. The hobbit quickly hurried away from the edge.

As the sun finished setting and the sky grew dark, they finally stopped. Combeferre studied the surroundings. It wasn't as grim as it had been on the way there, there were two nice trees growing a couple feet from each other. Gandalf stood between them, studying the rock wall before him.

"Well, let's see," the wizard was saying to himself. "Ithildin. It mirrors only starlight and moonlight."

As if on cue, the clouds parted to reveal the moon, and the rock wall was illuminated. Silver engravings began to shine in stark contrast with the rest of the cliff face. Combeferre was astounded. The writing upon what he assumed was the door they'd been looking for was unlike anything he had ever seen, not just because of the way it had to be read, but because it was an entirely new script for him. He had studied hieroglyphics quite intently, but this writing was entirely unfamiliar to him. _This really is an entirely new world._

"It reads 'The doors of Durin, Lord of Moria. Speak, friend, and enter,'" Gandalf told them.

"What do you suppose that means?" Merry asked.

"Oh it's quite simple," Gandalf replied. "If you are a friend you speak the password and the doors will open."

Combeferre raised an eyebrow. That seemed almost too simple.

"Annon Edhellen edro hi ammen!" Gandalf declared. The door did nothing. Combeferre's attention was entirely captured. This was a language he had not heard before, and between that and the fascinating door, his curiosity was piqued. "Fennas Nogothrim lasto beth lammen!" Gandalf tried again.

"Nothing's happening," Pippin commented, stating the obvious.

Gandalf continued trying, even pushing on the doors, but they would not budge. The Fellowship and Les Amis looked around while they waited, and Gandalf finally stopped and sat on a rock near the doors.

"I once knew every spell in all the tongues of the Elves, Men, and Orcs," he stated.

"What are you going to do, then?" Pippin asked.

"Knock your head against these doors, Peregrin Took!" the wizard replied sharply, his patience clearly too short for the terribly curious hobbit. "And if that does not shatter them and I am allowed a little peace from foolish questions I will try to find the opening words." He looked back at the doors. "Ando Eldarinwa a lasta quettanya, Fenda Casarinwa!" The doors continued to remain closed.

Combeferre sighed and looked around. It appeared that it was going to be quite a while before the doors would open. Aragorn was with Sam and the pony that had accompanied the group so far, removing the supplies from it before sending the pony away. _Probably for the best, God only knows how long we'll be down there,_ Combeferre thought. _Assuming we even get in._

He walked over to where Enjolras was standing with Courfeyrac.

"You look like you're enjoying yourself," Enjolras commented.

"Well, you have to admit, the magic door and the new languages are very fascinating," Combeferre replied, adjusting his glasses slightly.

"Well, it's certainly better than the snow storm and the avalanche on the mountain," Courfeyrac put in, grimacing at the memory. "I did not care for that one bit."

"I don't think anyone did," Combeferre agreed.

"Pointy ears did," Enjolras replied.

"You mean Legolas? I don't think so." Combeferre looked over at the elf. Legolas had a rather neutral expression, and Combeferre couldn't figure out whether he was looking at something or if he was just in deep thought.

"He looked rather content prancing around on the snow while we all struggled," Enjolras muttered.

Combeferre sighed. "When we first got here, you seemed excited that we might still have a purpose after dying in France, mon ami. Yet that somehow only lasted two days. What happened?"

"It's just all too strange," Enjolras replied. "Kings, traditions, magic... And no one questions any of it. They just blindly go along with the idea of monarchy."

"Maybe here the monarchy isn't so corrupt," Combeferre replied.

"All monarchy is corrupt," Enjolras retorted.

"I think you're just homesick," Courfeyrac cut in with a grin. "Why else would you ever lose your sense of excitement and adventure, your drive and passion for revolution at any cost?"

Enjolras frowned. "The initial drive was due to it sounding like there was a huge threat to this entire world. Then it turned out that the so-called threat was a bit of jewelry that once belonged to someone that has been dead for thousands of years."

"And there are elves and dwarves," Courfeyrac reminded him. "Have an open mind. We're not in our world anymore, that ring could be as dangerous as everyone says."

"I agree with Courfeyrac," Combeferre added. "We've only been here for a little over a week. They've all spent their lives here. I think they know better than we do."

Their conversation was cut short as splashing sounds drew their attention. Merry, Pippin, and Gavroche were all throwing rocks into the late.

"Do not disturb the water," Aragorn warned, grabbing Pippin's arm, stopping him. The trio quickly backed away as Gandalf threw his staff on the ground in frustration.

"Oh, it's useless!" the wizard sighed.

Combeferre, Courfeyrac, and Enjolras walked over to where Aragorn and Boromir were watching the water.

"What is it?" Courfeyrac asked.

"I think there's something moving," Boromir replied. Aragorn nodded, his eyes scanning the surface of the lake. Something did appear to be moving.

"It's a riddle," Frodo said suddenly, drawing Combeferre's attention back to the door. "Speak "friend" and enter. What's the Elvish word for friend?"

"Mellon," Gandalf replied. The doors suddenly began to move, slowly opening. Combeferre glanced at Enjolras and grinned slightly as he saw his friend's amazed expression. _Maybe he is starting to come around._

"Soon master Elf you will enjoy the fabled hospitality of the Dwarves," Gimli bragged to Legolas as the large group entered Moria. "Roaring fires, malt beer, ripe meat off the bone!"

"Hopefully cooked meat," Joly muttered. Combeferre shot him a look as Gandalf's staff began to illuminate the large cave they had entered.

"This, my friend, is the home of my cousin Balin. And they call it a mine. A mine!"

"This is no mine," Boromir said suddenly. "It's a tomb!"

Combeferre blinked as his eyes finally adjusted to the lighting, and he realized that the ground was littered with dead bodies. The corpses of many dwarves were everywhere he looked.

"Oh! No! No!" Gimli was horrified, and Combeferre felt a pang of sympathy for the dwarf. _He just said his cousin lives here..._

"Goblins!" Legolas hissed as he inspected an arrow. The elf quickly knocked an arrow on his bow as Aragorn and Boromir drew their swords.

"We make for the Gap of Rohan," Boromir said decisively. "We should never have come here."

They slowly began to move backwards towards the doors, their eyes still focused on the inside of the mines, keeping watch for any goblins.

"Now get out of here! Get out!" Boromir shouted.

"Frodo!" three of the hobbits yelled suddenly.

"Strider!" Sam shouted.

"Help!" Frodo cried.

Combeferre's eyes widened as he took in the scene before him. Some creature in the water with tentacles had grabbed Frodo, and the poor hobbit was being dangled in the air above them.

"Get off him!" Sam yelled, slicing a tentacle. Frodo was released briefly, but a second later several more tentacles burst out of the water, flailing everywhere, grabbing Frodo once more and hoisting him back in the air as he cried out for help.

The Fellowship quickly rushed out of the mines towards the hobbits, Les Amis following, but waiting just inside the doors instead. Legolas shot arrows at the creature as Aragorn and Boromir raced forwards, swords drawn, and began slicing at the tentacles, quickly freeing Frodo.

"Into the Mines!" Gandalf yelled. The hobbits obeyed instantly.

"Legolas!" Boromir shouted as he rushed towards the doors. The elf was still shooting.

"Into the cave! Run!" Aragorn yelled. The elf shot one last arrow, hitting the creature in the eye. He, Aragorn, and Boromir quickly rushed through the doors as the creature lashed out angrily, breaking the doors. Rocks fell from above the entrance, and in moments they were trapped inside, a wall of rubble before them. They were surrounded by darkness.

"Great," Éponine muttered. "Now we're dead again."

Combeferre turned in the direction her voice had come from. "Didn't you want to die at the barricade?" he asked her.

She made a small sound of annoyance at him in response, and he made a mental note to have a better conversation with her another time.

"We now have but one choice," Gandalf said, drawing everyone's attention back to him as the end of his staff began to glow. "We must face the long dark of Moria. Be on your guard. There are older and fouler things than Orcs in the deep places of the world."

Combeferre shuddered, his curiosity gone for once. As much as he loved learning, he wasn't sure he wanted to know what the wizard was referring to.

"Quietly now," Gandalf continued as they made their way up the small, carved flight of stairs tat led deeper into the caves, picking their way past the bodies of fallen dwarves. "It's a four-day journey to the other side. Let us hope that our presence may go unnoticed."


	9. Chapter 8

**So I somehow managed to write an entire chapter back in August that I then forgot about until now, in December. Hopefully the same thing won't happen with chapter 9 after I finish that and you won't have to wait so long again. Classes are done until January now, so I'm planning to do a lot of work on this. But for now, I hope you enjoy this chapter!**

Chapter 8

"I don't think I can handle four days of walking through caves," Éponine muttered as the group wandered through the mines. It had been a few hours since the entrance had been blocked, trapping them within, but she was already at breaking point. Her eyes had by now adjusted to the darkness, illuminated only by the dim light from Gandalf's staff and a torch Aragorn had found, but she hated it.

"I don't think it will be too terrible," Jehan Prouvaire replied, trying to be a bit more cheerful. "Just so long as we don't run into whatever killed all those dwarves that we saw when we first got here..." He shuddered at the memory, and Éponine grimaced.

They had been hoping to take shelter from the cold and bitter snow that had plagued them on the mountain, but instead they had walked into a dark cave full of dead dwarves and Frodo had nearly been killed by a monster with tentacles. She found herself wishing desperately that they could go back to the barricade instead. Being shot by a member of the National Guard was far less frightening than what she and the rest of the group had experienced over the last two days.

The whole experience was made worse by the fact that the mines were a dizzying maze of rickety wooden bridges, winding stairs carved into the cave, and ledges of carved stone, some of which were quite narrow, and there was always a looming abyss on at least one side, so deep that she could never see the bottom.

At one point, she tripped, landing close to the edge. Pebbles clattered as one hand scraped the hard rocks and slipped over the side, the sound echoing as they fell downwards. She lifted her head to catch her breath as she quickly recovered from the sudden impact, her eyes growing wide as she saw the deep chasm that lay before her, and her stomach churned as a lump rose in her throat. A fall over the edge, which she had come so close to in that moment, would mean certain death, and the thought of dying alone in a cold, dark cave in a strange, unknown world terrified her.

"Careful, 'Ponine," a voice murmured as a hand appeared to help her up. She took the hand shakily, relaxing slightly as she recognized Combeferre. "We don't want to lose you."

She simply nodded, grateful for his help, but unable to find her voice after the close call, and the two continued walking with the rest of the group. Her hands stung, and while she could hardly see, she was sure they were scraped, and possibly bleeding in spots, but she did her best to ignore it as the minutes passed, creeping into hours.

"The wealth of Moria was not in gold or jewels," Gandalf said after a long while, breaking the eerie silence that had set in, "but mithril."

"Mithril?" Éponine turned to Combeferre. "What's mithril?"

The man shrugged, his grey eyes darting around for a moment, almost as if he were searching for a visual clue, before looking back at her. "I've never heard of it, must be something from this world that isn't found in ours."

She turned her attention back to Gandalf, who was lowering his staff slightly towards a deep chasm on their right-hand side, revealing shining metal embedded in the rocky cliffs below. The light of the staff was reflected by them, causing the whole area to glow with a bright, white light. Éponine was certain that if her father had been there, he would have gone mad trying to find a way to dig the ore out himself.

"Bilbo had a shirt of mithril rings that Thorin gave him," Gandalf said as they continued on. _Bilbo? Thorin?_ Éponine looked around, hoping someone would explain the names to her, but no explanation came.

"Yes," Gandalf agreed. "I never told him, but its worth was greater than the value of the Shire." From the corner of her eye, Éponine saw Frodo's eyes widen as he drew in a sharp breath. _The Shire... That's where the hobbits are from._ A metal shirt had more value than an entire region? Her mind whirled in amazement. She glanced at Enjolras, and saw a dark expression on his face. No doubt he was thinking the same thing she was, that such wealth could surely have fed all of the poor, hungry citizens of France for their whole lives.

She found herself longing to climb down into the caverns and take a bit, just out of the deep instinct of self preservation that she had developed so strongly while living on the streets. Rationally, she knew she no longer had to worry about where her next meal would come from – only whether she would survive long enough to have it – but the effects of years of starvation had yet to wear off, and the desire for just a small amount of wealth was nearly too much to bear.

"That mithril shirt was likely worth more than all the wealth of the King of France," Combeferre murmured.

"How are these people so calm about something being worth so much?" Enjolras replied. "They were just told that some shirt has more value than a country, or whatever it is that the Shire is, and they're just continuing to walk?"

"They probably just have different priorities, especially with the whole Ring of Death that they're carrying," Bahorel replied. "Oh, and the fact that we're stuck in a cave where something killed a bunch of dwarves, and whatever killed them could be in here with us. It's not exactly the best time for worrying about money."

"I agree with Bahorel," Éponine said, shaking off her first instincts, the memory of her recent close encounter with the edge of the steep cliffs. "We need to focus on getting out of these mines."

They quickly hurried away from the pit, following the Fellowship deeper into Moria.

* * *

By the fourth day of travelling through Moria, they were all exhausted and desperate to get out.

"It can't be much further," Éponine said wearily as she pulled herself up the steep stairs, carefully avoiding the bodies of dead dwarves and abandoned books that were scattered upon them haphazardly.

Combeferre was beginning to feel uncomfortable with how desensitized he was becoming to the sight of the decomposing corpses that littered the mines, and he was also beginning to feel more anxious the longer they were there, his stomach now churning only at his thoughts rather than what he saw. Legolas had seemed certain that goblins were to blame for the dead dwarves when they had first arrived, yet they had yet to see any sign of goblins aside from the arrows and the bodies of the slain dwarves. Either their group was progressing closer to danger, or the goblins had abandoned the mines. He hoped desperately that it would be the latter.

As they finished climbing the stairs, Combeferre felt his heart sink. Three passageways stood before them, and Gandalf was glancing from one to the other, looking rather confused.

"I have no memory of this place," the wizard said after a moment.

"I knew it," Éponine muttered. "We're going to die here."

"No we're not," Combeferre said reassuringly, forcing himself to sound more calm than he felt and faking a smile. "Let's just sit and rest for a bit while we wait."

"Wait for what? Death?" Éponine asked.

"It's fine, we'll be out of here soon," Jehan said, cutting in. "I can't wait to get out again... breathe in the fresh air, see the grass and trees and flowers." Éponine rolled her eyes at that comment and turned away. Combeferre sighed and turned to Enjolras.

"How are you holding up, mon ami?" he asked gently.

"I'm beginning to feel claustrophobic," his friend replied. "This place is a nightmare."

"I don't like the darkness down here either, but it shouldn't be too much longer," Combeferre told him reassuringly. "Gandalf said four days, and today is the fourth day. He just needs a bit of time to figure out which way we need to go."

Enjolras didn't respond, so Combeferre decided to leave his friend alone. Glancing up, he saw that Éponine had moved away from the group and was sitting alone. He got up and moved over to her, hoping to maybe help in some way.

"What do you want?" she asked, staring straight ahead rather than looking at him.

"Just to talk, maybe get to know you a bit," he replied gently. "We are travelling together now, after all."

"Fair enough. What did you want to talk about?"

"Why were you at the barricade?" He regretted the question as soon as it came out. They hardly knew each other, it was a terrible place to start. Though it now felt worlds away, the barricade, their pain and suffering, their loss, and their apparent deaths were still recent memories and experiences.

"Why were you?" she shot back without hesitation.

"The same reason Enjolras and the others were there," he replied, choosing his words carefully. Éponine was one of the impoverished citizens he and his friends sought to help. One wrong word and it could all come across as attention seeking, with their group speaking over the poor to make themselves feel better. "The king and his government care only for themselves and do nothing for the citizens of France. They keep all of the wealth for themselves with no thoughts for anyone else. It's almost impossible for those without wealth to build themselves up." He hoped what he was saying was coming across properly and not making their group look bad. She was one of the people they had been trying to help, and that last thing he wanted to do was make it sound like he and his friends had been overstepping and talking over them. "Enjolras believes very strongly that a republic operating under a democracy would suit the needs of every citizen, not only the rich, and that revolution is the only way to bring about that change. I agree with him, to an extent. I would prefer a more peaceful resolution through education, however Enjolras is my best friend, I can't abandon him, and throughout history some violence has unfortunately been necessary to bring about change."

"Huh." She still wasn't looking at him, and the huffed response left him entirely uncertain of what she was thinking.

"So, what were you doing there?" Combeferre asked again. "Was it for Marius? I saw you following him a lot, even before the rebellion. And I saw you grab the gun that was aimed at him."

She was silent again, and Combeferre was certain that he had pressed too far.

"Sorry. I shouldn't have asked-"

"You're right." He looked at her again, and saw that her gaze had shifted down. "I was there for Marius. I- it's stupid, really, I thought maybe- maybe things would change if we were both there. That dying in his arms would be romantic, and maybe he would die too and we could be together. Of course it didn't work out, the whole thing was ridiculous."

"Love makes people do strange things," he replied, hoping that the cliched words would somehow be comforting. She scoffed in response.

"Love?" She finally looked up at him, her dark eyes meeting his grey ones. "I'm not even sure it was love. I thought it was but, I wanted Marius to die. He wouldn't have even been there if I hadn't talked him into it at the last minute, he wanted to try to find a way to follow Cosette to London. I was just delusional..."

"That- that is rather extreme," Combeferre said after a moment, slowly absorbing her explanation. "But it's okay. It's over now, and you did save his life."

"Which wouldn't have been necessary if I'd just let him chase after Cosette," Éponine huffed, resting her chin on her hands. "I made a mess of everything..."

"You didn't make a mess of everything," Combeferre replied. "Yes, you brought Marius to the barricade, but he's still alive. You may have died, but now you're here. You get a second chance. A lot of people don't. Things are going to be okay."

She looked up at him, her dark eyes hopeful. "You really think so?"

He nodded. "I do."

She smiled for a moment, but then sighed and lowered her head again. "It doesn't matter though. We're still trapped down here and we're lost."

"I'm sure it will be fine. Just wait, Gandalf will figure it out," Combeferre replied reassuringly.

"I hope you're right," she muttered. Combeferre sighed and walked away. _It's all right though,_ he told himself. _You got through to her a little. She smiled, that's something_.

"Ah! It's this way!" Gandalf said suddenly, perking up.

"He's remembered!" Merry exclaimed excitedly.

"No, but the air doesn't smell so foul down here," Gandalf replied as he stood, heading down one of the passageways. "If in doubt, Meriadoc, always follow your nose."

Combeferre glanced at Éponine as they started down the passageway, hoping to see something to show that she had a little more faith, but her expression was unreadable. _Perhaps my time would have been better spent continuing my efforts with Enjolras_ , he wondered. _At least I can read him and tell if I'm helping._ Then again, Courfeyrac had always been better with people than he was, able to make anyone smile with seemingly no effort, while Combeferre himself had – unintentionally – very nearly sent Marius home in tears when they had first met. _Maybe Courfeyrac can help Enjolras out... And Éponine too, perhaps. She may not be one of Les Amis, but she is travelling with us._ He looked over at his friend. _At least, I hope he can help... So far there hasn't been much change._

He shook his head slightly at the moment of doubt. Of course Courfeyrac would be able to help. They would just need the right moment first, ideally once they were out of the mines. _Yes, as soon as we're out of these mines, everything will get better._


End file.
